


More than A Little Breathless

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthdays, Crude Humor, Drinking, Fluff, Lap dancing, Lots of Sex, M/M, Partying, cutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Bofur's birthday, and Fili is determined to make it the best. After meticulous planning, he surprises Bofur at every turn, who can hardly keep up with it all, and succeeds in making it the most perfect birthday Bofur can remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More than A Little Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> This arose out of discussing Fili giving Bofur a lap dance from a prompt list with jokerswild on tumblr. Naturally, I couldn't get the idea out of my head, so here it is! It took a stupid long time to finish because of procrastinating, so I hope it's okay!~ 
> 
> I also use nameday and birthday interchangeably here - they mean the same thing.

Bofur insisted on going into work on his nameday despite Fíli trying his hardest to keep him home. He even made him breakfast, albeit a burnt one since Fíli hardly knew his way around a frying pan. The sausage was good, though, and Bofur thanked him and kissed his cheek before bounding out the door toward the mines. Outwardly Fíli knew that Bofur wouldn’t get much work done today because he himself had spoken to his contingent of workers about his plans. Bofur would come home early due to their pestering (“Oi! You have a prince waitin’ for ya, sir!”, “T’is your nameday, shouldn’t ya be _havin’ fun_?”), so as soon as he left, Fíli grinned to himself and went to his forge to put the finishing touches to Bofur’s presents. 

It only took him a few hours to complete the details, so when he got home, about five hours before usual suppertime, Fíli started on putting together the only thing he knew how to make; a mean roasted chicken with savory spices. The reason it was the only thing he could cook properly was because it required minimum attention, only having to turn the spit roast every few minutes. Frying up a couple of vegetables, miraculously unburned, Bofur came home just in time to see Fíli setting the table. 

He stood in the dining room in amazement, scratching his head in utter disbelief, partly because Fíli hadn’t set himself on fire. He sported a ruddy blush through his sooty cheeks when he went over to the wash basin to rinse the dust off his hands, his eyes sparkling. “You made supper?” he asked, a slow smile forming on his face. 

Fíli grinned proudly and nodded, putting his hands on his hips. “Aye, I did, just for you.” He removed the bind in his hair that kept it pulled back at the nape of his neck, and coming around the table he stood in front of Bofur who was drying his hands on a spare towel. He shook his hair loose and put his hands on Bofur’s waist, speaking quietly so it was just between them. “Happy birthday, love.”

Bofur pulled his lower lip between his teeth, taking a small step forward so their chests touched ever so slightly. Fíli rarely ever used little names like ‘love’, and he made supper besides, so Bofur felt very special indeed. He felt a tingling heat creep up his neck at the way Fíli was looking at him now, his eyes so full of love and admiration and so very, very blue. Fíli raised his arms to wrap around his neck, curling his hand around the back of Bofur’s neck to pull him forward for a slow and intimate kiss, Bofur’s own arms snaking around his slim waist. 

“I’m an old man now,” Bofur whispered against Fíli’s whiskers, staring into his mirthful eyes, which he rolled dramatically.

“Bah. You’re not old. Only one hundred and thirty. You’ve got a good hundred and fifty years on you, yet, and I intended on celebrating every one,” Fíli replied lightheartedly, his voice lilting and playful, and kissed Bofur again for good measure. Bofur made a noise of mild indignation into his mouth and he couldn’t help but laugh against his lips, pulling away giggling. He took his hand and led him to the table. “You need to eat your supper quickly and then hop in the bath. We’re going out tonight.”

Bofur chuckled when Fíli pulled out his chair at the head of the table, shaking his head as he sat and Fíli pushed him in. He leapt to the flagon he nearly forgot about, his grease spattered apron flying around him. Bofur usually wore it when he felt the occasion to have a meal in their suites instead of the dining halls with the rest of the dwarves, since he was the one who knew how to cook decently. He sat watching Fíli fumble around the kitchen, taking a bowl of cut bread in one hand and the flagon in the other, carrying goblets between his elbows, and tried suppressing his laughter but his amusement was still very evident on his face. Fíli set his load down carefully on the table, talking more or less to himself, and poured Bofur a goblet of wine, then leaping to carve the chicken in quick succession. 

Truthfully, Bofur felt a little jittery that he was practically being waited on by his lover like this, for he had rarely tolerated even a servant to wait on him. But he saw that Fíli was making quite an effort because he could have very well called up some more elaborate food from the city’s kitchens for their supper, but he had insisted on making it himself, it seemed, and Bofur was very touched by that. In fact, he was incredibly flattered and impressed, and felt his heart swell to nearly three time its size in his chest, fluttering pleasantly as he watched Fíli. Laughter bubbled in his chest when he saw his look of pure concentration. 

Fíli did a fabulous job of slicing the chicken breast with how much his hands trembled, wanting to at least give Bofur a decent supper for once, but if there was anything Fíli knew how to handle it was knives. The slices were perfect and juicy, the meat cooked just to perfection, and he felt a large wave of pride when he set a large slice on Bofur’s plate. “Tell me how it tastes,” Fíli said as he put the knives aside and served him the vegetables. He took up the flagon again and made to fill Bofur’s goblet only to see he already had, laughing at himself and his frenzy. 

Bofur cut off a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth, humming so appreciatively that it made Fíli absolutely giddy. “It’s delicious!” he said through his bite, swallowing and reaching for his goblet of wine to chase it down. Fíli watched him, nearly bouncing on his feet, and Bofur made another low him when the wine seemed to sparkle on his tongue, like little bubbles had burst as he swallowed it. “What wine is this? It’s very good!”

“Mother said the Dale-men make the best wines in the North, so I had to get a bottle of course. Not cheap, I’ll tell you!” Fíli said over his shoulder as he skipped to their bedroom. It didn’t really matter how much it cost since he could have bought all the wine from Dale five times over and still be swimming in gold, but it was a good thing he wasn’t letting it all get to his head. In fact, no one of the Company was being too overly excessive with their gold, maybe because they all knew the cost of such riches--and the habit of frugality was hard to break. Bofur was one such dwarf. 

Fíli returned with three boxes wrapped in plain ribbons, and when Bofur looked up from where he was wolfing down his supper, his eyes widened to the size of plates and he nearly choked on his food, dropping his eating knife with a clatter. “Fíli!” he exclaimed in a broken voice like he was in his twenties still in puberty. “What—are those _mine_?!”

Fíli guffawed and grinned broadly. “Of course they’re yours, you git!” he chirped cheerfully, shaking his head and sitting on the chair around the corner from where Bofur sat at the table, putting the large boxes on the floor. Bofur pushed out from the table and Fíli handed him the first box on top of the stack. “Open this one first.”

Seeing the excitement in the prince’s bright face Bofur couldn’t help but feel the same, eagerly pulling apart the green ribbon that kept it shut. It sat heavy in his lap so he could only guess what it was, and opening the lid, he certainly did a poor job of guessing. 

Bofur gasped huge and loud, almost shouting when he saw what it was. Inside laid the most beautiful axe he had ever seen, laid on a bed of hay to keep it cushioned. The blade glinted like the finest silver, the wooden handle studded with brass studs and bindings, polished like the finest glass, and the leather grips still smelled like new, crinkling as he gripped it. It had perfect balance, just heavy enough to do a large bit of damage but yet the lightest axe he had ever held. 

“Oh, Fíli, this is just…,” words escaped him as he twisted the handle to take a look at the other side, perfectly symmetrical. “’Bofur Broadbeam’…,” he worded quietly, reading the runes along the axe head by the shoulder of the handle. “Did you… did you make this?” he asked in breathless amazement, mouth half agape. 

Fíli nodded fervently, holding his lip between his teeth and grinning foolishly. Bofur could have died right then and there and have been the happiest dwarf in the Lonely Mountain. He surged forward, careful of the weapon, and kissed Fíli hard on the mouth. “Thank you, Fíli! Mahal’s boots, this is gorgeous! Just—thank you! I-I… thank you!” 

Fíli was nearly bursting at the seams when he reached for the second box, hopping closer in his seat. “Don’t thank me yet,” he winked, taking a gulp of wine from Bofur’s goblet, then realizing he hadn’t poured his own he made to do so, watching Bofur through the corner of his eyes. 

He pulled out a notebook, its corners and the clasps embossed in silver, geometric patterns along the spine and the front. It had taken many drafts for Fíli to find the right patterns before he actually molded them, and it had truthfully been the longest gift to complete for him to be completely satisfied. “Your assistant Brìg told me you couldn’t keep any of your notes in one place, and that he was surprised you managed to keep track of anything at all,” Fíli explained happily, tapping his feet on the floor. 

Bofur laughed heartily, shaking his head as he flipped through the blank, creamy white pages. “Brìg, that rascal,” he closed the book and inspected the designs. “You didn’t make this, too, did you?”

“Not the book itself, no,” Fíli replied, taking another sip of wine. “But I did do the designs, with Ori’s help of course. He has the tools. It sort of looks like the patterns you like to wear, yes?”

Bofur looked at him fondly through his lashes, his cheeks hurting from how much he was smiling. He was arse over teakettle in love with the best and thoughtful dwarf in Middle-earth and for that he had to kiss him again. “Aye, done to perfection, my lion,” he said ardently, his fingers brushing his cheek and beard softly. Fíli always blustered when he called him that, huffing and puffing wordlessly in what Bofur knew to be secretly pleased embarrassment, the only one he knew who could pull it off. He told Bofur it made him sound too valiant, like a name for one of Bofur’s toy warriors, but that was exactly the reason he called him such, on the rare occasions he did. Bofur put his hand on Fíli’s knee when he blushed a deep dusty pink, squeezing affectionately for he knew what Fíli was thinking without him having to say anything, chuckling as he bent for the last box. 

It was also heavy and Bofur was half-expecting another weapon (he would surely faint!) but inside was a thick fur-lined cloak with the softest indigo blue wool and intricate patterns done in silver thread along the edges, probably for the colder days in the Mountain but it could also pass as wearable for when he had to accompany Fíli to important royal meetings. Underneath was a deep green tunic with gold thread decorating the hem and neckline, a pair of trousers (he had to laugh a little—Fíli was always pointing out how mismatched his outfits were since he was rather fashionably decrepit and didn’t care much for such things, but Fíli was always better dressed so he listened to him when he pestered him to change tunics, albeit reluctantly with a bit of wounded pride), a pair of hard leather gloves for work, and a pair of heavy wool socks. 

“I’ve got a whole outfit picked out for me already!” he chuckled appreciatively, setting the box of clothes on the floor so it was out of the way of the food. “Thank you, Fíli, again and again and again.”

Fíli smiled broadly at him, so bright and radiant. “You’re welcome,” he said softly, standing from his chair and kissing the top of Bofur’s head. He crouched to pick up the boxes, minus the one with the axe, and took them back to their bedroom. “Hurry up eating! You have to take a bath and put on your new clothes!”

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Bofur called back, taking a large bite of chicken and vegetable. 

“I will once you’re in the bath!” Fíli replied and the sound of running water into the stone tub followed. 

Bofur hummed a chuckle and rolled his eyes, taking a chicken leg off the plate. Fíli came out of the bathroom as the tub filled, searching noisily through his chest of drawers for a tunic to wear. “Where are we going?” Bofur asked, gulping down some more wine, savoring the delightful warmth pooling in his belly, and watched Fíli walk back and forth through the doorway. 

“It’s a surprise,” he responded, peeking around the door frame with a grin. “And I have one present left for you, but you’ll have to wait until you’re squeaky clean for it.”

Bofur groaned but not out of frustration. “What are all these gifts for? It’s just a nameday!”

“I know!” Fíli replied cheerfully. “But I missed your last few namedays on diplomacy visits, so I’m making up for them. What, am I threatening your humbleness?” he chortled past the walls, and the teasing cadence in his voice was obvious across the halls. 

“Only a little bit,” Bofur said but it wasn’t loud enough for Fíli to hear. It was an understatement; Bofur had always been slightly uncomfortable begin given things that weren’t beer for he felt like he was in their debt and it made him feel uneasy. He supposed it was due to the fact that he had been fairly poor most of his life and when you’re poor it’s hard to pay your debts. Since reclaiming Erebor, Fíli had taken it as his personal mission to break the habit out of him, starting by giving him little menial things, then ones with more significance, and slowly Bofur stopped feeling so uncomfortable and denying them to accepting them with quiet thanks. Bofur was confused why Fíli wanted so badly to give him things outside of their courtship rituals, and at first a part of him thought the prince pitied him for having so little in the past. Of course that wasn’t true, Fíli adamantly explained, he only did so because it gave him a sense of purpose like he was providing for him, to make him feel like he was cared for and thought of. He felt immensely guilty afterwards for thinking otherwise and henceforth made a better effort of being more appreciative of such things, and endeavored frequently to give him things in return.

Plus, it was an added bonus Fíli always knew to give him the best things. 

Smiling, Bofur thought of what he would get Fíli for his ninety-second nameday. There was no doubt in his mind that he had to out-do him somehow, thought it might be hard to do since this one was his favorite yet. 

Coming out of the bathroom with only his trousers on, Fíli herded Bofur away from the table to the tub (still nibbling on the chicken leg), and he nearly pulled the clothes right off Bofur’s back. “Y’know, if you wanted me naked you only had to say so,” Bofur said with a suggestive tone, wiggling his brows. 

It hardly fazed Fíli even though he burst out chuckling; they always spoke so bluntly with each other much of their time alone. “I always want you naked, Mister Bofur,” he replied nonchalantly, taking the chicken bone away from him and giving his backside a generous pat as Bofur stepped into the tub. “But I have plans for you later. Need to save up your energy.”

Bofur hooted and spun his head around to face him with suddenly very livid and lusty eyes as he sat down in the warm water, a corner of his mouth curling in an attractively crooked smirk. “Oh? What kind of things, pray tell?”

Fíli clucked his tongue in perfect representation of his mother, taking a comb from the counter and moving behind the edge of the tub to undo Bofur’s braids. “I’m not telling you anything! You’ll just have to wait and see,” he replied smugly, utterly full of himself for keeping such delicious secrets. 

Bofur mockingly groaned and sported a perfectly childish pout. “S’not fair.”

The prince cooed jokingly, undoing the last braid. “You’ll like it, promise,” he leaned his head down to kiss his naked shoulder then made to comb out his hair.

Fíli continued to linger instead of not going to eat his supper, trying to wash Bofur’s hair for him but he wasn’t having any of it. He nearly splashed Fíli to get him out of the bathroom to go eat the food he so painstakingly made. Half-grumbling, Fíli finally relented and left. Bofur quickly washed his hair and scrubbed his dirty skin, and even though Fíli was two rooms and a hall away, he was still shouting at Bofur, telling him to get his toenails and between his arse cheeks. 

“Agh! You’re such a busybody! I’m almost done!” Bofur called back, laughing in exasperation. He knew Fíli meant well because it was his birthday, but really, he was a dwarf grown! He sighed, trying to get used to the fact that it was actually nice to be treated to and worried about once in awhile. 

“I am not a busybody!” Fíli called, closer now, rumbling around in their room, followed by a bit of what seemed like groaning but Bofur couldn’t quite tell. 

“You’re definitely Dìs’ son, alright! Biggest lot of busybodies, you Durins!” Bofur japed, and from the bathroom, he could hear Fíli breathily chuckling—it was the truth, after all. 

Bofur got out of the tub a few minutes later and dried himself off, strutting stark naked to the bedroom where Fíli was sitting on the edge of the bed, going through his box of hair accessories. His eyes opened wide in approval and he whistled low and teasing as Bofur made a show of shaking his hips and arse, singing a jaunty tune as he pulled his tunic over his head. He dressed in his trousers and found a belt that would match, and looking in the tall mirror he found he looked rather sharp in evergreen. “I like this,” he said with a pleased smile, turning left and right as he adjusted the knee-length hem so the belt wouldn’t cause wrinkles in unnecessary places. 

Fíli affixed his hair clasps and clips in his hair and walked up behind Bofur, saying over his shoulder, “I like it too, and you in it.” He winked and patted his hip, then took his shoulder to lead him over to the vanity. “Come, I’m going to brush your hair.”

Bofur sat down on the stool in front of the mirror without a squeak of complaint. Every dwarf loved to get their hair combed and braided by their lover, and Bofur was no exception. He practically purred as Fíli went to work quickly and deftly, having done this half a hundred times before, combing and putting his courting braid and the bead in it like he could have done it in his sleep. The small braid blended in with the larger one Bofur wore at the back of his head, the silver bead glinting playfully amongst fragrant dark brown hair. 

Pulling something from his pockets and keeping it enclosed in his fist, he tied off Bofur’s braids, having kept the ends hidden from view. “Alright, last gift, then you can go back to being awkward,” Fíli said and Bofur snorted in retort then he finally moved his braids so they lay against his chest, his hair too long now to curl up at the ends. 

At the ends of all three braids were bright golden beads to keep them tight and bound, tiny flecks of emeralds studded in the surfaces like dust. The beads themselves were large enough to notice but not too heavy to keep his hair from swinging freely. Bofur gasped instantaneously and lifted his hands to gingerly stroke the ornaments, his eyes tearing up as he stared at them and touched them. 

“Ohh, Fíli...,” he sighed, taking unsteady breaths, his throat suddenly becoming tight. The beads were so lovely and perfect and Fíli had put so much effort into them, and his other gifts, having stayed at the forge late into the night for the last three months or more, coming home tired from sixteen-hour days, sooty and sore. Then tonight he had made him supper, doting on him so kindly and tenderly and all-together flawlessly, all for him for his nameday. It almost became too much, tears threatening to spill like rain drops as he blubbered all his thanks to Fíli, his lip quivering without his consent. Fíli cooed quietly and not with a hint of mockery as he had before, pressing affectionate kisses to his scruffy cheek, holding his arms tight around Bofur’s shoulders. 

“Thank you so much, Fíli, my sweetest heart, for everything. The bead, the axe, Mahal, the bloody supper! It was so good, Fíli, the chicken, it was delicious, the chicken…,” Bofur sniffled and wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hands, making Fíli chuckle with so much warmth, pressing a half-smiling kiss to his cheekbone.

“You’re welcome, Bofur. I love you,” Fíli replied into his skin, the gentle cadence of his voice making a shivering imprint, looking at Bofur through his lashes into the mirror. 

Bofur nodded and composed himself, his sigh quivering as he held onto Fíli’s forearms across his collarbone. “I love you, too. So much.” Then he turned his head and accepted a kiss worthy of their words and commitment to each other. It seemed to last for many hundreds of minutes but it was not even one, unhurried and leisurely as time went by, all soft lips and warm, familiar mouths. They were slow to part, reeling in the fluttering sensations that usually arose from the depths when they kissed, and as recognizable and well-known as it was, it never ceased to astound. 

“Do we have to go?” Bofur asked quietly, his voice small in the space between their whiskered lips, tenderly looking into Fíli’s eyes. “I just want to stay here with you.”

Fíli could have wept at that quiet sentiment for it almost sounded like a plea, Bofur desperate to hold onto this moment and reluctant to break it. For a moment Fíli contemplated it, of taking Bofur’s hands and undressing him slowly from that tunic that made his eyes sparkle and glow, kissing and tasting his skin and the memorable spots that would make him shiver tip to toe, making such love to him it would rattle the mountain and tremble the halls. But alas, Fíli smiled forlornly and shook his head, saying with a lofty sadness, “As badly as I want that as much as you, I promised I’d bring you out tonight. There are others who want to celebrate with us.”

Bofur sighed heavily and the fine creases on the edges of his eyes disappeared, his brows ceasing to knit, but he puckered his lips in a gentle pout that simply asked to be kissed, so Fíli did so. “You and your promises. Damn them all. I’m not interested,” Bofur said half-heartedly with a mildly unenthusiastic smile. 

Fíli chuckled and removed his arms from around Bofur, standing up and moving to the bed where he had laid his chosen tunic and belt for the night. “Oh, don’t complain. It’ll be fun.”

Bofur snorted loudly, turning around in his stool, showing clearly what he thought of that. “Not as much fun as I could be having here with you.”

Fíli shook his head but was unable to hide his grin, even when pulling his long-sleeved shirt over his head and his tunic after. “That’s for later.”

Knowing he was being petulant, and having a bit of fun at it, Bofur whined obnoxiously and stomped his feet lightly for added effect. “But I want you _now_! It’s been days, Fíli, a dwarf can only go for so long!”

Still laughing, a little harder now at Bofur’s display, Fíli turned around and pointed a finger at him like he was scolding him. “I woke you up this morning with my mouth around your cock! Quit your whining, you dwarfling!” 

Bofur burst out into hysterical laughter and Fíli was short to follow, nearly doubling over in fits. Fíli clasped on his vambraces and tossed Bofur his boots before putting on his, and together they left their royal suites chuckling, arms hooked at the elbows. 

\------- 

Bofur gathered on their way to the mysterious location that Fíli was leading him to the deeper parts of the mountain city, where there could only be one tavern they were going to. He kept a light smile and pretended he had not one clue for his princes’ sake, since he thought he was being awfully clever by taking long and winding routes to try and throw Bofur off. What he didn’t know, however, was that Bofur had taken nearly every route possible on his way down to the mines for the last five or so years, and he knew these streets and alleys like the ones in the Ered Luin. He had friends in these quarters and he was no stranger to them. Fíli didn’t have to know that, though, so he kept it a secret. For the hundredth time that night his prince was impossibly endearing, trying so hard, and Bofur fell hopelessly more in love with him. 

Around the block from the tavern, Fíli covered Bofur’s eyes with his hands and led him forward, biting his lip hard in anticipation. Bofur dutifully walked along, trusting Fíli not to lead him into a wall or down a flight of steps without telling him. He joked with him that he would trip on his feet and bring them both to the ground, until he noticed how the street was unusually quiet. There were pubs and taverns along this street for quite a ways, and though it was in the middle of the week, it was typically lined with dwarrows heading home from work, carts up and down the paved road, and songs from inside the perpetually busy buildings. As they walked further along, he could hear some bits of talk and clanking mugs and some wisps of music, but not nearly as noticeable as it should have been. He heard a few carts lumber by, a few geese flutter and a donkey grunt as its master tugged it a long, but otherwise it seemed like everything had fallen quiet when they turned the corner. 

“Okay, one more time,” Fíli said, “keep your eyes closed!” He took his hands off his face and took his shoulders, spinning him around three times for the fourth time on their trek down. “There’s two steps here, now, and let me open the door—“

He pushed Bofur in through the front door of the pub and as soon as he took two steps inside, there was raucous cheering and hooting and whistling. His eyes flew open as his ears seemed to pop with all the noise, looking at the whole room of the pub stuffed with all the dwarrows he knew, all his mining friends, his contingent of workers, most of all the Company and some nobles he and Fíli were friendly with. So this explained why the street was so quiet—everyone was here! He stared incredulously as they all raised mugs in toast and leapt forward to embrace him or clap his shoulders, all the while Bofur utterly speechless—there were so _many_. All of them were here for him, for his bloody _nameday_. He felt like a dwarfling again, like the times when his mam would invite his group of friends over and they would be up all night telling scary stories and eating cake. It was incredible and all he could do was laugh and accept the head knockings and the tankard being thrust into his hands, sloshing over the rim.

When he was bustled towards the tables and the busiest areas of the room by the dance floor, he looked over his shoulder and saw Fíli beaming with excitement, grinning and radiant like the lanterns. Bofur winked at him and decided he would have to find the perfect way to thank him properly for all his amazing efforts. 

The first few hours flew by Bofur like a gale. Songs were sung boisterously, dances were danced in twirling revolutions, and much beer was drank and spilled and passed around. Bofur was given mug after mug, one after the other without a beat missed, jostled between fellow bulky dwarrows left and right, all vying to get a word in with him or to challenge him to a drinking game. Not unusually, he was in the middle of every story and every joke, either the subject or the teller, but the others delighted in telling tales of the last few years concerning Bofur and his exploits in the mines. How he had reorganized the system, rebuilt the ruined cart transportation tracks, fixed the miner safety lines and redesigned the grappling seats, opened up collapsed mines and made them safe, and discoveries of more veins of precious ore. He was hailed as one of the best foremen they had seen, and many wished he would become Head Foreman and eventually the Chairman of the mines—but of course Bofur blustered and denied any claims and said there were others more suited. There were many guffaws of protest at that. 

Bombur enjoyed telling a tale or two about catching his brother and Fíli in some compromising situations much to their obvious embarrassment, but effectively bringing Fíli back into the loop of conversation. He had been lingering on the fringes with the noblemen while allowing Bofur to be caught up in the whirlpool of dwarrows and beer, passing time along the tables by the walls and drinking from their own flagon of wine. When Kíli and Bombur both started elaborating on their romantic relationship, Fíli was pushed away from the walls by his drinking companions and hauled to the center where Bofur sat, who pulled him into his lap. The others laughed at their expense but Bofur was halfway to hammered and Fíli decided he didn’t quite mind when Bofur’s arms were wrapped so tightly around his waist in the sight of so many others, rubbing his nose shamelessly into the back of his shoulder with a stupid smile. Then, an idea sprouted in his head and he forgot how he was being poked fun at as it blossomed and grew.

Bofur released him and ordered a few more mugs for his lover since he wasn’t nearly drunk enough and Fíli agreed. He would need more liquid courage if he was to follow through on his idea, and he very much wanted to. Challenging Bofur to see who could drink an ale faster. Fíli clanked their tankards together with a testy glint in his eyes that Bofur returned enthusiastically. There was loud cheering and shouts of excited surprise as the prince of Erebor and his suitor threw their heads back to glug down their ale, and then one more. Bofur won the first round and then half the others joined in for the second, Dwalin winning, tossing his empty tankard back over his shoulder with a shout that rivaled his battle cry. Fíli then took the chance to steal the most important dwarf of the night onto the dance floor for a few cycles to the upbeat pub music. 

After awhile, a goodly portion of the pub clearing out as the night grew on, Fíli managed to find his brother with his bleary vision talking to the noblemen and a handful of miners about the merits of archery and properly tipped arrows, most of them trying to follow along with his quick and slurred speech, slumping in their stools. He had to wait a few minutes for an opportune time to steal Kíli away because when he was in his cups, he talked constantly and it was a feat in itself to interrupt him. Finally he was able to drag him away to the bar to order another round. 

“So, you know the Wicked Wench back—,” he belched “in the Ered Luin?” Fíli started, looking over to the center of the room when a shout went up, Glòin flinging Bofur over his shoulder and spinning him around as the others howled in laughter around them at whatever was going on.

“Yeah, what about it?” Kíli took the tankards the barmaid slammed down, giving her a cheeky wink to make the lass roll her eyes and smile. 

Still feeling a little undecided about whether to reveal his intentions or not, or to even follow through, Fíli took a long swig of the dark beer after clanking it against Kíli’s, smacking his lips together. “You remember me bringing you there once? For your nameday?” Kíli nodded, a smile growing on his bearded face. “And those dances the lads and lasses did there, and later at house parties? In the chairs?” 

“Gods, yes!” Kíli exclaimed excitedly in remembrance. “I remember! Ooh, I still get shivers jus’ thinkin’ about it! It’s a shame we don’t have a Wicked Wench here, aye?” he sighed dramatically and drank from his tankard, leaning his elbows back on the counter. “And it’s Bofur’s nameday. Who can we get to do it? Torstein, maybe? He seems like an _agile_ fellow,” Kíli sniggered. 

Fíli scowled at him though not nearly as impressive as it would have been were he completely sober, which he was certainly was not. “No,” he said in finality. “I was thinking I could do it.”

Kíli spun his head to face him, his mouth and eyes gaping comically wide in astonishment. “You?!”

Fíli raised a brow over the rim of his tankard, almost offended his brother was so surprised. “Yes, me. I’ve done it a few times before!” he said like Kíli had lost his head for suggesting otherwise. “I just have to wait until the nobles leave, then—“

“They’re leaving now,” Kíli interrupted, then lifted a hand in farewell, Fíli quickly spinning to see them he followed his brother’s gesture. They nodded their heads in thanks to the dwarrows, who returned the acknowledgements with happy grins and sloppy waves of their own as they left stumbling through the door. “Now you can do it,” Kíli said as soon as the door swung shut behind them, taking Fíli’s tankard abruptly and putting it on the counter despite his elder brother’s protests, unbending as he pushed him to the group of dwarrows where Bofur was smack in the middle. 

Fíli shoved his way through and saw that Bofur was cheerfully watching his miner friends arm wrestle across the heavy table. His cheeks were flushed with drink and his eyes glassy but he was glad to see Bofur wasn’t completely drunk, and in fact he was nibbling on a handful of nuts and drinking from a skin of water. So he hadn’t forgotten about Fíli’s plans for later, then, obviously opting to be sentient. Fíli smiled wide and puffed with a bit of courage, striding towards his lover. 

Bofur already sat in a chair so without a word, Fíli pulled him a little away from the table with the chair legs dully dragging on the floor “Wha—oh, hey, you!” Bofur brightened at his presence, further inflating Fíli’s ego effectively, and he could faintly hear Kíli call for faster and louder music. When Fíli turned the chair a little away from the table so he had space, easy enough even with Bofur sitting in it, the miner looked up at him with a deeply questioning look, still smiling but remaining stock still. He had no words to place the determination and flaring intention in Fíli’s eyes, unsure what to do with his handful of nuts and skin of water, but Fíli only continued smirking down at him without offering a hint of explanation. 

He stood in a wide, strong stance in front of Bofur, starting to undo the buckles of his vambraces without taking his eyes away, enjoying the puzzlement mounting in Bofur’s expression, most of the others too busy with foolishness and bets to notice. He set his vambraces on the table nearby and took the skin from Bofur, setting it aside, and turned back to him while rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, his forearms cording. 

“What are you doing?” Bofur asked, huffing out a laugh, and Fíli caught his eyes scrolling him over, up and down, stopping for a brief second on his belt buckle. 

Fíli felt eyes starting to watch him and Bofur both and whispers followed, taking a bit of strange joy at leaving his suitor questioning when he had such plans, for now and later, and watching his eyes glitter at him in the orange light of the pub--it was nothing short of thrilling.

He put his hands on the back of the chair Bofur sat in on either side of his neck, leaning his head down, his hair falling over his shoulders, and said in a low, husky voice that frankly lit a fire in Bofur’s blood, “I have another surprise for you.”

The music picked up and Bofur opened his mouth to ask him what he meant but Fíli stepped forward and straddled his thighs, swiveling his hips downward in a tantalizing grind. Loud whoops erupted around them when the dwarrows realized what Fíli was doing, climbing over each other in drunken, excited stupor, punching shoulders and shoving arms. While everyone else was shouting bets at how long it would take them to leave the pub for the night and how long Bofur would last in the chair, Bofur himself was utterly frozen, his eyes blown wide and mouth gawping, a fierce blush creeping up his neck to cover his face. Fíli grinned at him, sliding his hips downwards and about in practiced circles, using the back of the chair to keep his balance and grip, his thighs doing a lot of the work of keeping himself up and allowing him to straddle Bofur so. 

Some chant or another sprang up from the crowd, and though he couldn’t make out what it was, Fíli drew confidence from it and from the dwarrows’ pleasantly blushing faces as they watched. Bofur glanced around almost nervously when he managed to take his gaze off Fíli, seeing so many faces watching them, watching _Fíli_ and his twisting hips and round arse pressing into him carnally. He had to swallow down a fierce surge of jealousy but quickly allowed pride to take over entirely. Yes, let them watch, because Fíli was his attractive, golden, and _damn talented_ prince, and they all damn well better know it. Just to spite them, Bofur ran his hand down his back, his strong muscles underneath the layers of clothing, and around the curve of his arse, pinching just so. Hoots of laughter followed, and he had to smile at the commotion it caused, but mostly from the almost surprised look that burst on Fíli’s face, blushing a little darker. 

Bofur slid forward in the chair just slightly to allow more contact, Fíli pressing his chest and front flush to Bofur’s enough so the miner had to tilt his head far back to look up at him. He slid back down, raising a taunting brow, and Bofur growled low in his throat playfully so only Fíli could hear. He gave him a mischievous, pointed look before standing and turning around, putting his hands on his knees and grinding his arse down onto Bofur’s hips, not enough to be overly suggestive but enough he was surprised Bofur wasn’t gripping onto him yet to pull him down farther. In fact, he was keeping his hands carefully in check the whole time, running his fingers through his fringes and down his head in what could only be said as stressed arousal. Fíli was quite impressed Bofur wasn’t raging hard yet because he was nearly doing much the same things as he would have done in the bedroom while riding him, and he usually got him to full hardness in minutes. But now he supposed he was glad Bofur had maintained _some_ of his restraint since the first time they bedded, as he had done his damnedest since then to knock it out of him. Mostly, though, he hoped Bofur didn’t think this was his plans that he had mentioned to him earlier, because they certainly were not—he was planning to have Bofur leaking hot and hard later. This was nothing.

Bofur’s mind was completely blank and hopelessly unaware of the anything else, leaning his head back and fighting the persistent desire threatening to make itself evident every second. It was difficult, he had to admit, for Fíli was swiveling his hips in ways he only thought he could do in bed—he didn’t know he could _dance_ like it, too! It was wanton the way Fíli tossed his hair, throwing his mane across his back. Bofur watched the folds move in his tunic and cinched around his belt, how his back arched and how the cloth bunched around his hips. His hands were jumping anxiously to hold onto Fíli, touch him, tease him back, but they were certainly not alone and it was getting more and more difficult to remember. He nearly had to start imagining Òin naked to get his mind and body to settle down. It was almost ridiculous how badly he wanted to shove Fíli out the door and drag him back to the sweet privacy of their room, where he could have Fíli do this for him more intimately, with his cock inside—

No. He must not think about such things, not here where he would never live it down. But _he wanted_. 

Fíli finally finished and stood, blushing with all the ferocity of a tomato, sweaty and smiling that shy smile of his before Kíli nearly tackled him to the ground. Bofur still sat in the chair staring breathlessly at his love’s disappearing back as the others crowded around him, some having the audacity to whistle and clap his back. He watched as a few dwarves came to up to Fíli and grab his shoulder, jostling him teasingly, and once again he had to forcefully suck down a rearing head of jealousy. Luckily Nori was there to shove another tankard into his hands to get his head back on his shoulders, downing it all in almost one go. After the bets were passed around and jokes effectively put into the rosters to bring up later this coming week, Bofur sat and listened to his friends’ accounts of some of their experience with such dances, the women and men who nearly made them come in their trousers. He had to feel a little proud that he was still hiding his arousal effectively, but his hands were itching. 

He watched Fíli a couple of paces away across the tables and benches get his head rubbed by Dwalin’s knuckles, caught in a headlock, and laugh along with the other surrounding dwarrows as Kíli rambled into a story about the Wicked Wench. His heart thudded in his chest, drowning out the clatter and laughter of the pub, blood thrumming in his ears as he watched the prince, desire flaming in his gut hot as the forge fires. 

Without further ado, Bofur hopped up onto the table and made his announcement. “Well, lads and lasses!” he started, spreading his arms wide, voice clear as a bell. “This night has been a great night among many with you fine folk, and I’m so very glad you all came to celebrate my nameday with me.”

“Came? That’s for later, Bofur!” Dwalin shouted above the din elsewhere the pub and they all roared with laughter at his suggestive jape.

Bofur chuckled along before answering. “Aye, indeed! On that note, I have a prince to thank for all his due troubles!” And with that, as a new wave of laughter following him, he hopped down off the table and strode quickly to Fíli, the others parting around him so there was no mistake the prince was the destination, grinning giddily like a dwarfling. Bofur suddenly bent and put his shoulder into his stomach, flinging Fíli over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, patting his arse for more raucous laughter. 

As they left there were catcalls and tips and warnings for Fíli to be careful with the ‘birthday boy’ lest he break him, a chorus of whistles chasing them out the door. As soon as they were outside, Bofur set Fíli onto the ground unceremoniously, who had continued giggling incessantly on their way through the pub, and took his hand. He started running at a dead sprint and Fíli was eager to follow. 

“Liked that, yeah?” Fíli said, their boots thudding on the stone streets on their way up toward the expensive quarters of the Erebor. Bofur looked at him, running alongside each other, and guffawed. Fíli noticed his cheeks were still flushed considerably, probably from drink but he hoped it was mostly from his dance upon his lap. He loved that he could still surprise Bofur and get such a disheveled look from him, his braids and fringes mussed. His dark hair fell and swayed around his face in tendrils, eyes livid and burning with intent and something desirous. 

“Liked it? Aye, I sure did,” Bofur replied through heavy breaths, then abruptly pulled Fíli swiftly enough into an alley they almost slipped on the stones. Bofur whirled him around and pressed him into the wall, immediately surging forward to hungrily claim his mouth, wedging one leg between Fíli’s and _rubbing_. He trapped him, holding his wrists against the carved stone as he licked into his mouth, surprising Fíli with the intensity of his searching tongue and prying lips but he was more than keen to return his urgent kisses. He tasted the sweetest ale and the faint tang of pipeweed, swallowing it up and sucking the very breath from Fíli’s lungs straight from his throat. 

Bofur pulled away just enough so they could gasp for breath, pressing further into Fíli’s thigh and simultaneously making it evident how much he enjoyed his dance. He was only half-hard but if he continued pressing into Fíli’s body like he was and kissing as deep as they were, soon it would be very difficult to make it home. “Do you feel that?” Bofur asked in a husky voice, his mustache brushing against Fíli’s as he spoke, and if he were not so close, he couldn’t have heard the quiet whimper from the prince’s throat when he slid himself along his leg just a wee bit. 

Fíli nodded belatedly and shivered, pushing his hips forward. He could hardly speak, his breath coming in such short spurts, his desire mounting as he felt Bofur’s heat, in his body and his gaze. 

“This is what you do to me, my love,” Bofur said, a wolfish smile pulling his lips, and if that wasn’t enough to get Fíli’s groin slightly stirring, it would have been the way Bofur’s fingers tightened around his wrists and they way he bit his swollen lips. “I need you, now.” And with that, Bofur started off running down the alley again and Fíli followed readily, matching his pace. 

Bofur took a much quicker route to their quarters to the secondary entrance, used only by family and friends, and the one they used most often as it directly opened to a foyer where they had boots and cloaks hung. The other entrance was used by diplomats and the council when Fíli on the rare occasion hosted one in the solar, but both were still guarded nonetheless. The guards posted outside the entrance paid them hardly any mind as they barreled past and crashed in through the door, half laughing and half kissing, Bofur shutting the door closed with his foot. They toed off their boots haphazardly and yanked at their belts, letting them fall where they may, still attached clumsily at the mouth. Bofur started making quick work of the laces of Fíli’s tunic as the blond pulled on his, leading him backwards into the dining room and kitchen; it was the quickest route to their room from the foyer. They shed their tunics and let them pool onto the floor, eager to run hands over hair-dusted skin and warm, rounded muscles. 

Bofur pressed Fíli into the edge of the table, and peeking an eye open, saw that it was cleared of his birthday supper and dishes except for some papers and useless knick knacks neither cared much about on one end. He started teasing open the laces of Fíli’s trousers while the prince wrapped his bulky arms around his shoulders, kissing him deep and amorously, weaving thick fingers into his loosened hair. Easing his trousers down, Bofur slid his hands over warm and strong hips and back to cup his arse in his hands, gently squeezing and making Fíli moan low into his mouth just so, stuttering as he stepped out of the trousers and kicking them off. He arched into Bofur’s sturdy and mine-hardened chest, pressing their fronts and hardened groins so delightfully closer.

Bofur teased the fingers of one hand between Fíli’s cheeks, moving his head to the right for a fresh angle to kiss from. He sought after his hot center, simultaneously palming his firm bottom, only to stop suddenly. Fíli smirked and leaned slightly away to get a good look of the delicious look of surprise on his lover’s face, cocking a sharp brow. “What’s this?” Bofur huffed, fingering the flat, smooth object in Fíli’s arse. 

“Something to get me prepared for you. A sort of plug, you could say. I put it in while you were in the bath, thoughts of having you naked so close to me running in my head as I did it,” he replied coolly, his voice as smooth and dripping as honey, his eyes ever glinting. Bofur’s heart rose to his throat as an unexpected burst of arousal ignited in his gut, flaring down his limbs and settling in full between his legs, and he very nearly moaned with just the thought of Fíli preparing himself with thoughts of _him_ and him alone, just a room away. 

Bofur couldn’t help a guttural chuckle, almost a growl. “How many surprises do you still have in store for me?” he didn’t wait for an answer as he gripped the plug to draw it out, watching Fíli raise and knit his brows and his lips part in sudden stimulation. It was only about four fingers width in length, but nearly half the size of his wrist, thick and smooth and shining with oil. Fíli made a dejected whimper when it was fully out of him, Bofur setting it aside on the table, feeling all too loose and empty without it. Bofur tested out Fíli’s hole to see what the plug had done and he very nearly melted with how supple he was for him, pliant and so eager to accept his fingers, drawing him in. 

Bofur crashed his mouth to Fíli’s as the prince moaned in his throat, clutching at Bofur’s hips with bruising strength. “I’ll always have surprises,” Fíli said airily as he yanked down the miner’s trousers with demand. “Don’t you know that?” he smirked at his lover before reaching for something under a napkin and sheaves of paper, pressing a bottle into Bofur’s palm. 

Bofur chuckled warmly and incredulously when he glanced at the bottle, shaking his head fondly. Indeed, Fíli would always seem to find some way or another to surprise him, always mischievous and scheming, and he found he didn’t quite mind. Fíli pulled himself up to sit on the table, his length tall and proud and flushed red between his parted legs, pulled Bofur to him. He sidled up between his knees after kicking off his trousers, landing somewhere in the kitchen. 

“Happy birthday, Bofur,” he whispered against his bearded chin, looking up at him through his lashes so beautifully. 

Fíli was so warm and slick when Bofur sheathed himself fully inside him, gutturally moaning and falling forward, his palms thudding on the table to catch himself. Fíli had laid back on the table and he bent his legs to curl around Bofur’s hips, hooking his ankles behind his back, and stretched languorously, smiling faintly with a low hum rattling his throat. Bofur pulled his hips back until he almost left him, then heaved back in, making Fíli’s breath stutter and his cock jump on his solid stomach. He thrust repetitiously into him, his hips snapping against the back of his thighs as he settled on a favorable pace, reveling in the silky walls that made the sweetest friction, moans lilting with praise. 

Fíli raised his arms to grip onto the other side of the table, tilting his head back to groan long and loud. Bofur dipped his head and snagged his teeth on the fluttering pulse beneath the curve of his jaw, kissing with hidden bites down his neck to his collarbone, then across to where his shoulder muscle folded into his arm. He pressed whiskered kisses to the sensitive skin on the underside of his bicep, and made his way down to his neck again to suckle patches of skin, leaving blushing pink spots. "Oh, Bofur, yes there... don't stop don't stop, _there_... ohhh," Fíli whined in a tight, heavy voice, groaning louder with each perfect heave. 

Fíli’s hands moved from the table to fly to Bofur’s hair, caressing down and across his smooth shoulders and the dips in between, fingering the beads of his make in his lover’s hair, sighing and moaning and hitching his legs further up Bofur’s undulating hips. Bofur quietly made his way up the stubbled column of Fíli’s neck, his mustache and nose dragging along familiarly scented skin.

"The way you taste, love...," he muttered, deep against heated flesh. He kissed his way up his bearded jaw, his chin, and the braids on either side of his mouth, playfully pulling on the end of one with his teeth, before sinking his mouth to Fíli’s in finality, kissing him hard and deep. He palmed his sides and tweaked his pert nipples with calloused thumbs, rolling the hardening buds and making the prince writhe and shiver beneath him so full of passion and so willing. 

It was unfair how beautiful he was, his reddened and kiss-swollen lips open in a small circle beneath a golden brown mustache, his bright yellow hair shining with golden threads, fanned beneath his head, arching his back catlike, stretching his broad chest covered in coarse yet fine hair. And he was all Bofur’s, keening as his cock pegged his deepest parts, responding to his touches like his hands were the epitome of pleasure— _all his_. He was the best dwarf on the face of Middle-earth and he loved him, _Bofur_ of all dwarves, treated him so wonderfully, made his nameday the best damn nameday, and he loved him in return. Oh, how Bofur loved him. 

Pulling Fíli up by his shoulders and in one swift motion, he lofted him upwards so he could carry him, still sheathed deep inside him. Fíli wrapped his legs tighter around his waist earnestly, circling his arms around his neck. He pressed their foreheads together and laughed a sweet song as Bofur carried him through the dining room toward the hearth and sitting room, just down the hall from their bedroom.

“You feel like home,” Fíli whispered, his fingers nearly tickling his shoulders but it was his words that sent electrifying shivers down Bofur’s spine.

He had intended to go to their bed but he needed to fuck him hard right _then and there_. Bofur dropped to his knees and let Fíli go unceremoniously so his back slapped against the stones but he didn’t seem to notice as Bofur pistoned his hips into him. He heaved into Fíli deeply and hurriedly, kissing him hard with burning need like the mountain would crumble if he did not. Fíli’s back scraped against the floor as he was pushed upwards, shouting out his lover’s name and gripping at his back with his heels pressing into his arse, his nails digging into muscle as he cried out. Rarely did they make love so roughly unless the need called for it, and tonight seemed like the night, or at least this round, and neither offered a bit of complaint. 

Their pleasure chased after them single-mindedly and soon it engulfed Fíli in blinding suddenness, falling apart and moaning loud enough to echo in the high ceilings, his breathing hitching and his body stilled as he came in thick and hot spurts between their bellies. At his clenching around him and the look of blissful orgasm on his lover’s face, Bofur was short to follow, trembling and groaning Fíli’s name as the world turned fuzzy around the edges. He fell slack against a sturdy blond chest, panting for breath, and only now did he notice how his knees throbbed with new scrapes. 

When he was able to feel his arms again, Fíli carded lazy fingers through the wispy hairs on Bofur’s temple, his feet falling to rest against the stone in exhaustion. Bofur’s hot breath was cool against his sweaty skin, and he smiled as the hairs he blew on tickled him. He smiled lazily, luxuriating in his lover lying so limp and comfortable against him, softening inside of him still. Bofur raised his head as soon as he was feeling less dizzy and rested his hands on his chest, his elbows on the floor, and was able to pull his head enough up to look at his rosy face. He delighted in the strands of hair that clung to Fíli’s forehead and how some strands had curled along his temple from sweat. He stroked some of them away, content to simply just look at him, reveling in his golden afterglow. 

“I hope you’re not sleepy yet, love. I still intend on having another go in our bed,” Fíli said lightly and Bofur’s laugh reverberated through his chest, tickling his bones. 

With one hand Bofur stroked his fingers along Fíli’s bearded jaw and the other he combed through the hair on his chest, perpetually smiling and it put his face alight in the most beautiful way that it had Fíli’s heart singing. He could smile at him like that for centuries and Fíli could never stamp down the affection that bloomed in his heart because of it. Unable to find words to explain, he gently took a hold of each of his two front braids and pulled him forward for a lingering, gentle kiss.


End file.
